Bruce Banner and his attempts
by bagumbo
Summary: "The thing about his suicide attempt was that it wasn't his ONLY attempt." Bruce Banner has never been able to properly kill himself. Whether it is good luck or bad luck the fact of the matter is Bruce is alive but does not want to be. What will happen in Peru?
1. Chapter 1

The thing about his suicide attempt was that it wasn't his ONLY attempt. It was however the first to lead to hulking out. There were several trials and errors and out of impatience and despair he tried to blow his brains out. An idiotic idea really. How did he ever think that the Hulk wouldn't come out simply since he was pulling the trigger? Every other time a bullet pierced through him the bastard forced his way out anyway.

When he woke up to find himself in the snow, naked and blood filling slowly into his mouth the only thing he could think of was to cry. He screamed through his sobs, blood spraying across the icy ground. He was alone at least. Thank goodness he was alone. No one could be hurt when he was alone. He sat in the snow, crying and screaming until he passed out, whimpering still in his sleep.

He moved on after that. No more cures. No more attempts. He would do something that wasn't completely fucked up for once. He did good, until THEY had dragged him into a freak show.

He did not regret what happened in Manhattan. It was one of the finer points of his life within the last decade or so. And he also realized how pathetic that was. But he was a pathetic excuse of a man so it fit. He went back into the world, slipping away from the temptation and pleads to make a home in the country of his origin. But he couldn't focus, not completely. No, the idiotic genius whom he so quickly turned into a close acquaintance (he refused to have friends, and having close acquaintances were rare things) had bid him farewell with _You always have a place here. _And it irked him how he Could have that but really he Couldn't or at least Shouldn't. He wanted many things. Having a home was one of them. But he almost never got what he wanted. So he worked most at the next best option which was helping others, which really he wanted That too.

At night though, when he finally willed himself to rest in a small corner, he'd have fewer nightmares, but the dreams were so much worse. They were full of possibilities and Hope and more than he could take, waking up with tears. Than other nights there were memories of his attempts. It had surprised him, since he really only dreamed of the last attempt, most likely since the Hulk was pissed at him still. But he was always pissed.

_He knew the acid wouldn't work. Ross had already bathed him in it, but he needed the burn. He needed to try again._

_Waking up in a cabin, some kids finding him hung from a tree, cutting him down and taking him home. The feeling under his touch of a neck rubbed raw._

He would wake up then, when the feeling was too real. And the urge to try again burned in him, a pressure in his chest. The thought swirled between the ever present anger and growing depression that always flared up when he had time to think.

If you were to ask him when his first attempt had been, he would have laughed. The first time was so so SO pathetic really. He had been in his early teens, living still with his father, and had tried to hang himself. Only the rope had broken, his father woke up, and he received another beating. Ah childhood.

His second attempt had been only a few years later and he still laughed because looking back it seemed like the angst of a teenager. He knew how it felt when you were IN those years but in his own case well yeah. He didn't have as many reasons as he did now, after years of accumulation of screw ups. He had been a lonely teenager who hated himself and his father and wanted nothing more than to sock every idiot in the class in their jaw or break a girl's leg for talking too loud. He began cutting himself when the urge to slit his teacher's throat had wiggled its way to the fore front of his mind. Soon his abdomen and chest were covered in the tiny cuts. One day he was just… done. It was the only time he cut his arm for that. The scar was faint since he cut along the line of muscle properly, digging deep and reveling in the pain and sickly feeling of warm blood pouring out of him. They found him unconscious in a bath tub and forced him into therapy.

No therapist in the world could handle his shit.

He read the ingredients and warnings and everything in the pill bottle several times before he started really thinking. He hypothesized that this wouldn't work but really he wasn't feeling to creative right now.

_He remembered the shock all through his body, jolting him down to his very core, his skin burning in the water while the toaster sank further down._

_There was the time he attached his legs to a horse, throwing a stone at him to make him run, dragging along jagged rocks and dirt, cut and bruised all over until the animal stopped. Really it only caused him pain, but pain was good. He deserved it._

The other times he had tried pills they had been sleeping pills. Then heart medication. Then just a medicine cabinet he came across. He realized on the run that people needed those pills for living and he was just screwing their chances of getting the life savers he used for self-destruction so he had stopped. These ones however were anti-anxiety, depression, mood stabilizers, ADHD medications; things that combined would turn him crazy but hopefully all those side effects that came with it would kill him. He could endure some suffering for the greater good.

They didn't work. He didn't hulk out though. At least there was that.

He thought about joining the Avengers once or twice but dismissed it easily. They wanted the Hulk. He didn't want them to have him. Everyone always wanted the Hulk, either to use him or kill him or whatever. No one ever really needed Bruce Banner. The hellicarrier and finding the cube would be an exception, except for the fact that yes in the end the Hulk did come out and yes he was used and yes he was OK with that. He didn't want there to be a common theme though. He was tired and sad and angry at being the plus one of sorts. It was never about him and it never has been. The only exception might be Betty. His work and rages and acquaintances (even back then he didn't have friends) were never about him really. But Betty aid attention to him. Because of that she ended up dead. And that is unfair.

"Life is unfair, Banner" he murmured to himself, staring down from the building. It wouldn't work, but just the feelings of being up high and so close to the edge made him feel a bit better.

He was in Greenland drinking ale from a glass boot, trying to ignore the annoyance that was a drunken man singing karaoke when he received the call. The elderly woman had handed him the phone and he heard instantly from the speaker the sound of a familiar voice.

"Bruce Banner do you know how hard it is to locate you?" He'd only been there for a few days so he was surprised. "I'm just outside the airport. I'm in the blue car. What kind of rental place has only three fucking cars-"

"How did you find me?" Bruce asked quietly, ignoring the stares he received from the few sober ones in the bar. Meaning the old woman and some guy who was working his way up to drunk.

"I was in the airport and I spotted you" was the bull shit reply… well maybe not. He did have to change flights in Germany, since Egypt didn't fly directly there.

"So you followed someone who looked similar to me and just up and boarded a-"

"Are you the red car? I just passed a red car." He was the red car, but he deflected the question.

"Stark-"he started.

"Tony. It's Tony. I told you its Tony."

"Whatever you say Stark." He hung up then and asked kindly of the woman not to give him the phone if someone asked for him again.

It was only a few minutes later when Tony Stark graced their presence, swinging the door open and letting in the cold.

"Bruce!" Tony practically tackled him in a hug. Huh, he didn't think he was a hugger. After a few seconds of being squeezed he was released to find the man grinning at him. Bruce smiled softly. He couldn't help himself. He could stand talking to someone for a moment. Tony sat beside him, ordering a scotch. The woman laughed and served him up beer in a boot.

"So Stark how was your flight?" Bruce hoped Tony would end up rambling. He didn't have much to say.

"Empty. I was he only one on the flight and I couldn't take the jet since the airport only fits one freaking plane and" Ah yes rambling, perfect. Bruce listened, smiling and nodding at the right intervals. Tony went from the plane to his business trip in Germany to what had been going on in his research and development department, to how he was rebuilding a suit to how the rest had blown up. He fell silent then and the silence was suffocating. It wouldn't have been if it wasn't the look on Tony's face.

"So how are you and Pepper?" That got Tony started again, and Bruce felt relieved to not have to engage much. The drunken singer finally shut up, having passed out at a table, and the other two in the bar left. Yes there had only been five of them. This was Greenland. There was like eight people.

"Where have you been?" Tony asked in the middle of a sentence. Bruce sighed and looked into his beer. He wished he could get drunk.

"Here and there; just came from Egypt."

"Oh, and you were doing?" Bruce looked at Tony who appeared genuinely curious. _Treating bullet wounds and the usual diseases, wallowing in self-pity, attempting suicide, you know the usual. _He huffed out a laugh.

"Oh just the usual," He managed, smirking into his boot. Tony's face fell just a smidge. "Nothing that interesting really; I'd hate to bore-"

"You're not going to bore me," Tony stated firmly, a frown forming on his face. For a minute Bruce worried if the man could see just how miserable he really was. "I haven't seen you for over two years."

"It's been that long huh?" Bruce felt like Manhattan had been only a few weeks ago. Time flies when you're trying to end it all. He pushed those thoughts down for the moment and forced a smile. It was easy. He'd had decades of practice. He told some stories that were only half of what really went on. He described in not too much detail certain cases and at one moment he was shot in the leg without Hulking out. He had been very proud of that and told that part with enthusiasm. He mentioned some interesting sites and some strange food that he would rather not eat again and random stuff as if it were a vacation and not a grueling struggle. Tony listened though, nodding and smiling at certain spots. His face was mostly neutral though, as if he knew that Bruce was hiding something. Suddenly Tony was frowning, his forehead crinkling and Bruce was about to ask what was wrong but the woman came in and told them that it was closing time. The expression left Tony's face, but Bruce fell silent after paying for his drinks and thanking her quietly. She gave a dismissing wave and Bruce began to leave rather quickly. If Tony figured it out-

"HEY!" Bruce stopped then, turning to see Tony jogging up to him. Bruce had almost made it to the car. Almost. "You're not just leaving me again are you?" Tony asked, his voice sounding genuinely distressed. Guilt flared in him and his chest felt tight.

"No," he said. He settled on getting in his car, and figuring that the idiot of a genius would follow him.

This was a very bad idea. Tony had been uncharacteristically quiet when he asked for Bruce to come to Malibu with him. He came up with hundreds, if not thousands of reasons why that had been an awful idea in his head since then, his mind and body screaming for him to just RUN. But he couldn't. Not when the great Tony Stark looked so… vulnerable? That was the only way he could describe it.

He had not realized what he was signing up for. Usually he looked forward to Tony's stories and words and conversation. Sitting in a chair and listening to him for hours well…he drifted. Nothing against Tony, but he was just exhausted. The night had been ridden with those quiet nightmares that would jolt him awake with a silent gasp instead of a scream. But Tony's voice soothed him and he slept the best he had in months, much to the idiotic genius' dismay. When Tony looked at him, annoyed and disappointed Bruce's only thought was how he was useless. He couldn't eve pay attention to something so important. He could tell it was but he had been so tired. Selfish. Stupid.

"I'm not that kind of doctor," He heard himself saying. How was he supposed to help when all he wanted was to die?

"What you don't have the time?" Tony asked.

"The temperament" Bruce answered, sighing. Tony had clasped a hand to his forehead and began to talk about his childhood. Bruce nearly groaned, rubbing his face and letting his head hang back. But he stayed awake this time.

Bruce was packing his necessities quietly, not wishing to awake anyone. He tried before but Tony always talked him out of it. He knew it was low for him to sneak away in the night, after he and Pepper had let him in for what he thought was much too long. He could tell Pepper was not completely comfortable, though she was extremely good at hiding it. He snuck out, leaving a simple note and kicking himself for looking back before he walked away.

Bruce found himself in Chile. Sitting under a tree with a makeshift structure he watched the rain pour. Some water trickled on him but the structure was holding well enough. He scratched at his growing beard. He was hiding again. He had been too recognizable last time. You can hide under hair.

He was cold and hungry and wet and miserable. None of these things were unfamiliar with his day to day life. He had tried to slit his throat this morning, but his skin healed rapidly fast and he could only savor the pain briefly. The Hulk had roared and screamed but didn't force his way out. The anger was building, a painful pressure against his skull, and he wanted to scream and roar and cry. He didn't tough. He sat watching the rain. That is before he was knocked out.

When he woke up he felt like he was in one of his dreams. That feeling of everything being too real for such an unrealistic place was unsettling at best. His head was pounding and waves of nausea swept over him. He dry heaved for a minute or so. Or more. He couldn't tell.

The place he was in lighted up, the bulbs shining harsh rays into the place. A look around could tell you it was most likely a ware house. Walls dirty metal, floor bare concrete, tall ceiling, and no visible exit in his position. Empty. He pulled at the binds only to find them unknotted. He lost balance and stumbled onto the floor. Groaning he looked at the only furniture in the room. A hard plastic chair and a frayed rope. He stared at the chair for a while, headache slowly turning into that familiar pressure the feels like it's about to swell out of your eye sockets. Love that feeling. So pleasant.

The silence was interrupted; and by interrupted a screeching noise that stabbed through Bruce's ears like a thousand blades erupted out of nowhere. He shut his eyes and covered his ears in a feeble attempt to block it out. The sound just grew louder and the pitch turned higher and Bruce couldn't tell if he was imagining the warm liquid flowing between his fingers. Just as suddenly as it started, the noise was gone. The suffocating silence returned ten-fold. Bruce didn't move.

As the tight little ball of bones and organs he was he could not find an answer as to what was happening. _If he was captured did they know he was the Hulk? Anyone with half a brain would tie the other guy up. If they didn't know who he was why take him? Was he even being held?_ These were the questions he would have asked if his mind was not simply and endless stream of 'OW OW OW OW OW OW OW'. The ringing in his ears covered over the sound of heels clacking against the concrete. When he did open his eyes and uncover his ear- ah yes that was ear blood- he finally took note of the shadow looming over him.

_Shit_

He did not move, nor did the shadow. Time was nothing at the moment and Bruce couldn't tell if it had been seconds or years. Decades. Centuries. Hell maybe he'd die of old age. He almost laughed.

The click of the heels began again as the shadow became a…something. It was hard to tell just by the feet. He didn't look up though, just stared at the feet.

Slick black heels so high they could snap your ankle: Skin dark but with a strange paleness, as if lacking blood flow. He said nothing when the figure sat on the plastic chair.

A sweet voice with a strange accent laced though it spoke first.

"Robert David Bruce Banner; quite a mouthful."

Experience has taught Bruce to expect a lot of things from life, and to adapt to the differing variables. Being held by a stranger with the threat of either hulking out or being tortured filling his mind is one common scenario of his existence.

He worked slowly to get himself sitting properly, grinding his teeth to keep any groans from escaping, fighting the nausea that made him want to heave again. He toys with the idea that he has been drugged. The possibility is not unlikely especially since he wasn't tied up. Dumb move.

"Should I know you?" Bruce asks, not yet ready to face his captor. He's still fighting the dizziness.

"Probably not," was the answer. What was that accent? German? Dutch? Hebrew- for fucks sake he sucks at this. He looked at his new buddy and studied her. The dark-but-pale legs were only visible by inches, the rest of her covered in a long dress. She wore a hijab as well. The outfit was as black as the heels. Her face was…interesting. A bit cartoonish even. Too large eyes of a deep blue under well-kept eyebrows, lips thin but mouth wide, nose bulbous and reddish. _Rudolph the red nose reindeer_. Her cheeks were fat and there were acne scars on her forehead. She smiled, showing her yellowing teeth. He gave a crooked smile of his own.

She leaned forward and stared him in the eyes, smile fading. Again time stood still for a while.

"…I prefer not going by my whole name." Bruce said eventually. She didn't even blink at that. "Any reason I'm here or-"

"What do you think of tortoises?" She asked out of nowhere. Bruce was surprised how serious she seemed to be.

"…uh, I-"

"Tortoises are a lot like squares you know," she continued leaning back against the chair, looking towards the ceiling.

"Okay," was all Bruce could come up with because THIS variable was becoming harder and harder to read.

"I mean all tortoises are turtles, yes? But not all turtles are tortoises. That's not how it works." She lulled her head around till she was staring at the left wall. "Then there are squares. Squares are a type of rectangle, yes? But not all rectangles are squares. That's just not how it works." She lulled her head again so she could stare at the right wall.

"Uh…" Bruce could see that. It was completely irrelevant and weird but okay. He forced a polite smile. "Yes I agree." Experience has also taught him to be polite until there was a threat. Captors and enemies did not often expect politeness.

"So the Hulks are always Banner, but Banner is not always a Hulk."

_Oh._

"That's not…how it works." Bruce answered slowly, hoping that she misspoke when saying Hulks. As in plural. As in how the** fuck** had she found that out?

"Then how does it work?" She asked, looking down on him with a strange expression; a cross between curiosity and disappointment.

"It's a secret."

"Keeping secrets is bad for one's health."

"Sharing secrets can be harmful to the listener. I'd hate to make you sick."

She fell quiet for a then and time was nothing again. Bruce found no comfort in knowing what was wanted of him. Of course it was the Hulk. He was sick of it. Sick of everything.

_The feeling of a blade through your chest depends on the blade. Curved feels like hell. Serrated feels like damnation. But a smooth sharp blade feels like heaven. If only it would work._

The urge to cut something came again. To try and stop this sickness.

"Why do you try so hard?" Bruce looked her in the eye. That same expression. "Is it really that difficult?" Bruce stayed quiet. "You can be killed, yes?"

"I don't know."

"You try to find out, yes?" Bruce said nothing. "You shouldn't. It's bad for health." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Bad things are going to happen soon, yes. Yes very bad things; men still want serum." She tapped her feet once. Twice. "You helped make it, yes? It made the Hulks." Bruce almost laughed; almost smiled, almost caved into the feeling of _oh yes she doesn't know. _Because the more people know the more of a threat they are. He forced a blank expression though. "Bad things will happen. You help stop them, yes?"

"Why would I do that?" Bruce asked, head spinning. He wanted to heave again.

"You could die." Bruce closed his eyes to stop the spinning world. A quiet whistling was starting to fill the room. "You help, yes? Help in Peru."

"Help with what" but his words were lost. The world became a screeching siren that made Bruce tighten up into a small ball once again, filled with pain. The screeching seemed to go on forever. Time was nonexistent.

He was not going to Peru. He was not going to Peru. HE WAS NOT GOING TO FUCKING **PERU**.

As he booked a ticket to Peru, Bruce contemplated his life choices. He couldn't quite explain why he was purchasing a ticket and not running to the smallest crevice in the earth to hide. He could only say that it felt too much like Greenland, Tony's look of vulnerability swaying him to go into dangerous waters despite every instinct and reason to run.

Why he was going in a plane was beyond him as well. He hated airports. And planes. Being in a pressurized container with a bunch of strangers was not ideal. Greenland had been the only exception to the rule considering how few people ever go on their airline. He had been one of three passengers (almost half of their population). Customs was awful. He worked hard to keep from going green and horror stroked him whenever his hand seemed to blotch unnatural spots. The plane was crammed and he felt claustrophobic. The screaming infant was just a cherry on the proverbial shit Sunday he ordered.

When he finally stepped into Peru it was only then did he realize he had absolutely no place to go to.

"Wow Banner," Bruce scoffed to himself, walking out and continuing on. Walking on and on and on and on he finally stopped when he felt rest to be a necessity. He had tried to remind himself that he was not on the run, that he did not have to keep moving, but his body seemed to always be in a fight or flight mode and he only stopped when his throat was dry, his legs felt like jelly, and his breathe became ragged gulps of dusty air. He settled under a deck of what appeared to be an abandoned shack (hopefully) and rested in the dirt. It was not ideal, but it would do. However, when he heard the familiar whining that busted his ears from Chile, he froze. Then it was gone. A strange accent filled the air though.

"You came to help, yes?" Bruce closed his eyes and nestled the dirt.

"Help with what?" He mumbled once more.

"Stopping the end."

(continued)


	2. Chapter 2

When Bruce woke up it was to the sounds of argument. Not quite yelling but not quiet that's for sure. It took a moment or two to realize that the voices were speaking in Spanish. He shook himself awake. The Hulk was there now, strong and pressing, not fighting to get out but pissed off about something. But he was always pissed off. He caught a few words he understood and tried to listen but the door was yanked open to reveal a very angry man.

He stood at about five foot six inches, black hair balding and eyes a bit beady and too black. Like a rat even. His nose had large nostrils and his cheeks were slightly sunken in, ears large and neck thick. The man was medium-built with. His hands were hidden in too large sleeves. Odd. The Strange woman he'd been dealing with stood behind him looking like a puppy who'd been kicked. The man's anger faded into an expression of apology and he spoke with that same implacable accent of the woman.

"I apologize deeply sir." Before Bruce could react the man was standing in front of him, clammy palm on his forehead, and murmuring something. He didn't quite catch it considering it felt like his brain was boiling. The Hulk was there but not roaring and angry. No he was cowering far away, crying out in agony and unwilling to come through. He fell to the ground, clutching his skull as his ears ringed. Time stood still again, and he could feel again. Nothing was unreal now. It was very real, very painful, and very very scary. He vomited and closed his eyes as his face landed in it. "My associate didn't understand her instructions. She struggles with the concept of free will and assumed that she needed to override your functions to get you here." Bruce rolled to his other side, nausea sweeping over him. "Uncomfortable I know but you'll be feeling normal again. I don't know about you but I hate when my mind is filled with fuzz. Can't think much." The man said something that was most definitely not Spanish to the woman and the sound of her retreat echoed past Bruce's swimming head. Everything was crashing against him at once. He was slowly putting together the words. It was too much for him right now lying in his own puke with a stranger looking down on him with pity.

"Uh." Bruce tried to form words but his tongue felt too thick.

"Robert it truly is a pleasure to meet you. I hope we-"

"Bruce." Bruce choked out.

"Oh yes right she told me you were not fond of your name. Anyway we mustn't delay. Up you go." The man grabbed Bruce by the arm and tugged him up slowly so that he could get his balance. His feet felt like lead and his mouth tasted disgusting but he was could feel again. Nothing was…fuzzy. That was a good word for it.

"Your friend, she said something about a serum?" Bruce managed to ask as the man looped his arm around him and guided him out the room and into the hall. From the looks of it they were underground. Fairly obvious considering the rock wall and dirt floor.

"Oh yes yes yes very good not all was lost then but I must ask you something. If I may?"

"Uh sure."

"Are you willing to help? Before she-well let's just say she had persuaded you in not so fair of terms. I'm surprised that you could have a thought of your own with how deep she was really she is getting quite better at it a geat asset though she still needs work-" The man rambled like this for a few more minutes, till they stopped at a metal door on the left wall. The man cleared his throat. "Yes yes well the answer? I cannot tell you anything more until you agree."

Bruce paused then. Did he really want to be in this? No. Of course not. It was a stupid risk with no visible value. There were not even enough variables to rely on. He tried to match this up to any project he'd done before, any situation really. He could think of none. None where he would willingly walk into something without even the littlest hint as to what he was needed for.

_You could die._

"Yes. I may have a few conditions though." The man smiled.

"Of course. Of course." With that he opened the door. Bruce found himself speechless.

_The water was suffocating. That was the point really. But drowning was never his most favored activity. The chains binding his arms were heavy and the rock tied round his legs dragged him down. The water was pressurizing against him. It seemed to go on. He eventually opened his mouth gasping from holding breath to long, the salty disgusting burn of salt water filling him. Much worse that fresh water. A lake had not worked. Maybe an ocean. He was still being dragged down when the chains became tighter, his body was cracking and breaking to form something else. An ocean did not stop the monster._

_The icy wind bit him as he removed his clothes. The Hulk hated the cold. He was sluggish there. He dug into the snow, deeper and deeper and deeper. Cocooned in snow and ice he waited and waited and waited to freeze but his body heat simply rose to keep him alive. He was disgusted._

_Dehydration was an awful thing. Bruce tried it as a means to end. All it left him was hallucinations and pain and the power of the other guy pushing through it all. He drank the first thing he could get his hands on (camel piss) to get the other guy to back off. It tasted foul._

_The pressure against his sternum whilst being buried felt a bit like the lake. He couldn't breathe around the dirt and rocks as it was shoveled onto him. In Afghanistan kids made money off of digging up bones. It was easy to get one to bury him. Not so easy to get over seeing the lifeless corpse when the bomb hit. He still wasn't over it. Especially since some desperate child probably crushed the kid more to get the bones. Someone has to feed the family._

_The-_

"Alright there Bruce?" Bruce startled and looked at the strange man. Right. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and breathed. "It is a lot to take in I know but really some extraordinary development here and truly if I may-"

"You want me to build a bomb." The other man shut his mouth and looked away. "You knew about the gamma bomb. You knew about the Hulk. The HULKS. Or am I wrong?" The strange man took a deep breathe.

"You are right about knowing not about desiring." He looked out over the room, much like the warehouse Bruce had awaken in when meeting the strange woman. Only this one was filled to the brim with chemical weaponry, a lab filled with not so modern machines, and something that looked uncomfortably like a bomb in the back. "No we don't need a weapon as you can see."

"Then why am I here? If it's because of the doctoring I'm not quali-"

"No no no nothing of the sort. If I may inquire, she did tell you of the serum?" He waited but Bruce did not answer. He was focused too much on the weapons. They all LOOKED familiar but the Logos were missing.

"These are Stark weapons."

"Oh that well yes yes a bit. You have to hear me now Bruce. These are not ours. No no no not really. We confiscated them from very very dangerous people. Keep away from the youths yes? We don't use them, only store. Deactivation takes time mind you but-"

"Why am I here?"

"If I may finish than you will know." Bruce looked at the strange man. He appeared to be growing impatient and pointedly looked at the far wall.

"Several people in power have come together and thought up a way to test out knew methods." He paused to see if Bruce would interrupt. He kept quiet. "The easiest people to capture and hold are the homeless, the elderly, orphans, and the ill. Rarely though are they tested upon for anything more than a cure or a way to make monsters. Those people in power want both." He looked at Bruce then with anger in his eyes. "They want monsters who cannot heal. They want them to die. But not before killing the masses. Decrease the surplus population. A new wave of war." He paused again. Bruce did not respond. "We have been working quietly and swiftly to take away the most damaging weapons to the environment at least. Not that we're going green, mind the pun sorry, but we do want to be able to live on the surface when this is all done."

"You still haven't answered me."

"Yes yes getting there. A serum much like in a certain Wade Wilson, you know him?"

"He chopped my head off once."

"Ah well yes yes him, powerful but not exactly reliable. Anyway they are developing it further only to have the effect of killing the person off after a certain period of time. How long we are unsure. They will be unable to die, or at least stay dead, until that time is up. Yes yes awful business. What we want you to do is help us with two things. The first being a device to capture and contain these monsters and the second a cure."

"A cage and a cure."

"To my knowledge you've been subject to both." Bruce huffed out a laugh. "You said you would help. Are you laughing at us now?"

"I will help." Bruce said after a moment. He could do that. A bit of pressure. But he's faced the end of the world before. Never as just Bruce though.

"The Hulk will not be needed but if you must transform the Professor would be appreciated. Than at least some work could continue."

"None of them are good with following orders."

"True" He said.

"True" Bruce repeated.

_You could die_

Bruce didn't know how he felt about making the cage, since they could turn around and use it on him. And a "cure" could imply many things. But he still held onto the tiny hope that when he fucked up, which he would he always does, it will be his death that will come of it. He almost smiled.

Working. That's all he did. Once in a while the strange strangers reminded him to drink some water, eat some food, get some rest. He had no interest in anything but working. That should have been his first clue.

The cage was simple enough. He made it out of adamantium steel, rubber cement, vibranium, and other items that he asked for. He didn't ask how they got them, didn't care. That should have been another hint.

Whenever he had a though beyond his goal his mind would always revert back to _You could die_ and he'd be focused again. He thought of nothing but how to make the cage strong and how to make a cure. He should have been startled when the woman explained that by cure he meant a way to kill it quickly.

"It's the most humane thing to do, yes?" He did not argue.

It was only when the cure was in hand and about to be tested did he hear a faint voice.

**Stop.**

Bruce blinked, trying to recognize the voice. His arm outstretched, syringe in hand, he had been ready to cure himself. To be done with the disease.

**No.**

Hulk? Bruce blinked again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the Hulk. It seemed so long ago. Here there was no time.

**Please.**

"Is everything alright Bruce?" The man asked. Bruce blinked again. What was his name? Had he never asked? "You know if you inject yourself you could die."

"I know." Bruce replied, sticking himself with the syringe. The last thing he saw was the faint smile on the stranger's lips and the faint voice crying in his ears.

When Bruce woke up he was in a cage. The cage. His cage. The strange strangers were talking in that strange language. He felt fuzzy again. He felt like vomiting. It all felt too fuzzy. He tried to think but there was nothing. So he just stared and listened. They were smiling and chatting and it felt fake. It felt like those too real dreams but nothing was real, none of it made sense like those dreams. It was a fake reality. It had to be if there were explosions. It had to be if the happy noises became screams of surprise and anger and pain and sorrow. It had to be if everything around him was being destroyed, all of it collapsing. It had to be if SHE was there. The cage opened up and she yelled at him. What was she saying? She approached him and he couldn't look at her. He couldn't move. It was fake. Not real. The blow to the head felt real though. And he was gone.

He awoke peacefully, a new phenomenon considering everything. He did not feel much pain, not like he usually did after a black out. His eyes fluttered open and he didn't even cringe as the harsh light hit his sensitive eyes. He blinked a few moments and stared at the ceiling. It was metal. Damn.

"You're awake." Bruce glanced without moving. He could see a reddish blur.

"Miss Romanov." Bruce moved his head to face her better and yes there was the Black Widow, sitting beside him. He took a quick look at the situation. He was in the cage of the Helicarrier but he had already inferred that. He was hooked up to an IV, but he wasn't chained to the bed. The bed was soft.

"Don't get formal on me now Bruce." Bruce blinked and Natasha sighed, leaning forward just the slightest.

"What am I doing here?" Bruce already knew but clarification was always nice.

"You had been captured." Natasha hardly got the words out before Bruce barked out a laugh. He covered his mouth quickly to hold back another and ended up going into a coughing fit. "Bruce I had interviewed them you weren't-"

"Stop." Natasha went quiet. Bruce took a deep breath. "I went willingly. I gave consent. I worked by their side. I was the one who…who stuck the needle in my arm. They didn't force me to do anything." Bruce watched as Natasha went from blank faced to looking unimpressed. "What?"

"The woman confessed that you were under 'mind pressure'. She said that pressuring the mind could cause submission and indifference, among other things. Like feeling 'fuzzy'." Bruce looked away at that. "She also said that you couldn't keep a hold on a person unless they were mentally weak. That and a key phrase to keep the subdued party from… Bruce." Bruce blinked and felt the wetness on his cheeks. He huffed out another laugh that turned into a sob. He gripped his mouth tighter and closed his eyes to this world.

_Why am I crying?_

"Bruce…" Bruce heard her shifting, felt her soft hand on his forehead, brushing away some hair. He was shaking.

_Why am I crying?_

"Bruce-"

"Does it matter?" Bruce found himself saying. "Does it matter how they did it? Does it matter what happened?" She was quiet. "I wasted some time trying to make a serum to kill off mutants Natasha. That's what I was doing. Does that matter? Does anything?" Bruce let his hands fall onto the bed.

"Why?"

"I was told that some group or another was planning on making monsters. Monsters out of kids and… and… well I fell for it."

"So you wanted to help protect the innocent." Bruce opened his eyes and looked at her through his blurred vision. "You worked to both keep the public safe and to end someone else's misery."

"Well, when you say it like that it almost sounds," Bruce sighed. "Exactly how much did the woman confess?" The silence that followed was enough of an answer. "Oh."

"We've decided to keep it quiet and we'll only place you on watch unless we find it absolutely necessary." Bruce laughed again.

I'm going mad.

"We're heading to New York. You'll be staying in Stark Tower."

"Giving me orders now?"

"Yes." Bruce smiled at her, despite everything.

"I thought I wasn't on watch." Natasha returned the smile, tight and controlled. Trained.

"Does it matter?"

"So how'd you find me anyway?" After a round of dozing off and on Bruce had again awoken to a Natasha sitting by his side. He had an eerie feeling that though he may not be on watch, that didn't mean he wasn't going to BE watched.

"Accidently," Natasha admitted with a shrug. "We were looking for the stolen weapons; some of them came from SHIELD suppliers, and when we got a tip that some were Stark's we moved in."

"Oh. I didn't see him."

"That's because he was not there." Bruce rose an eyebrow. "We needed to do this by the book. As far as jobs go, this was pretty by the book. YOU being there was unexpected, but after some cognitive recalibration it was relatively easy to get you out." They didn't talk for a while after that. Natasha didn't read or write or do anything really but sit there and stare at Bruce. It unnerved him but he always felt unnerved when being the center of attention like this.

"Besides you who else has their eye on me?" Bruce asked cryptically.

"You mean who knows you're actively suicidal?" Natasha asked bluntly. Bruce nodded. "Maria Hill and I had been interviewing them. They both mentioned it. We both reported it to Fury. As of now my orders are to keep quiet about it; at least to none SHIELD employees." Bruce nodded again.

"Do…DO you know their names?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I never thought to ask." Her expression softened slightly as if feeling pity-no not pity. Understanding? Relating?

"We're still working on that but they've been going by Nadia Nimingada and Joseph Carter." The silence continued for a very long time. Bruce was still on an IV. He felt fine but Natasha informed him that no he was not fine. They were probably sedatives.

Bruce didn't care. He felt blank. Empty. Like something was missing. He closed his eyes. He wished he didn't have to open them.

Tony was angry. NO angry was too nice a word. Blood-thirsty furious with boiling rage? Maybe. Bruce could hear him over the coms in Natasha's earpiece. She not so subtly turned them off and went back to her new pass time of staring him down. Bruce was lost for time. He didn't even know the month. The Year even for Christ's sake. And he didn't care. He should be concerned. He should be scared. He should be something. But he wasn't. He felt numb. Empty.

Like he was missing something.

When Tony showed up in front of the cage, glaring at them and obviously trying to calm down, Natasha hardly even glanced at him. Bruce looked for something in her expression. But her face was neutral.

_Why are you doing this? Why do you care?_

Bruce feigned sleep easily and listened to the conversation between Natasha and Tony when he finally got access inside. Natasha was very good at lying. Bruce knew this but it was always touching to know she could do that easily. It gave Bruce someone to relate to. They lied for different reasons though. Tony did not seem happy about where he had been, which was apparently passed out after a transformation. Bruce couldn't tell if it was because he had "been sedated", because he hulked out, or simply because he left. He was not looking forward to that conversation.

He liked Tony. He was his friend. But when he left he had left with the intention of never seeing him again. Hell knows he tried his best to make that dream a reality.

But this was reality. You don't always get your fairytale ending of not living through a beheading.

So even though he liked Tony, he kept his eyes closed and breathing even so he didn't have to meet the eyes of the idiotic genius who had done so much for him only to be let down.

_I'm a dick._

"You left." Natasha was not there when Bruce finally opened his eyes again. He was met by a blank-faced Tony, and he had to will himself not to sigh. "You left without a word and all I got was a stupid fucking note." Bruce knew there should be anger in that voice. But the man was guarded, as if prepared for Bruce's words to strike at him and cut him down to the broken soul that he knew was there. Bruce wondered what it was like to have a soul. At least one that wasn't damned to hell. "Do you remember? Dear Tony Stark, I am deeply grateful for all that you have done for me. I am sorry for leaving you so suddenly but it is for the best, Sincerely Bruce fucking Banner." Bruce willed himself not to make a sound. "Seriously Bruce? Why didn't you just finish off with it's not you it's me?"

"But it is me." Bruce said quietly but Tony just rolled on.

"Why did you leave? And don't give me any oh Tony I could kill us all bullshit." Tony fell quiet now and the expecting look in his eye coupled with the suffocating silence made Bruce squirm in his skin.

"I have my reasons Stark." Bruce said firmly. Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "I tried to leave before remember? But I… I was too weak to leave you with that sad ass look on your face." Bruce was surprised by his own words; they were said in such a calm and steady voice. "Am I a coward? Yes. Am I selfish? Yes. Do I regret leaving?" Bruce stopped. Did he? He regretted everything he'd done after leaving. But the actual act… "I don't know," He answered honestly. "I don't know."

They sat in silence for a long time and slowly, at the speed of a glacier in Greenland, the tension in Tony's body lessened until he was slumping in his seat, looking exhausted.

"Okay, just, yeah okay." Tony ran a hand over his face and scratched his beard. "We'll work on this yeah, that is if you're staying?"

"I am for a bit." Bruce didn't know how long 'a bit' was. He was at the mercy of Natasha.

"Good that's uh, that's good. I got some work that uh could use more than one pair of hands so-"

"I'll help in any way I can." Bruce lied. It was a good lie since he could do most anything requested of him. Tony smiled.

"Are we still friends?"

"Yes," Bruce croaked out. He admitted it to himself a while ago but saying it out loud made it real.

_I have a friend._

The research and development area in Stark Tower were beyond Bruce's wildest dreams. The technology and machines in the floor were years ahead of what should be possible. But there it was with all its metallic glory. Bruce felt like an elephant in a china shop. He pushed past it though, marveled at everything, followed Tony as he guided him through a tour of Candy Land, and stayed quiet about his reservations with being allowed near ANY of this stuff.

He did his best to "strut" though and Tony didn't point out how he shied away from physical touch of any object besides the man's own hands. He caught himself thinking how easy it would have been in Peru to make a successful antidote with this technology but stopped himself because no he was not going to use this lab and these machines and Stark's generosity and forgiveness to simply fail at killing himself again. He wasn't ready to sink that low.

And all while this was happening the ever present gaze upon him could be felt to his very core. She had hardly let him out of her sight since he started walking about again and he did not see her stopping in the foreseeable future. With Natasha's eyes, Tony's cameras, and Jarvis's sensors there was no room for privacy. He felt trapped under a microscope, the world simply waiting for him to screw up. Again. He hated it. He hated everything. But as he saw his idiotic but brilliant friend smile warily, as if he'd break if Bruce were to strike him now, he couldn't feel a thing.

The anger was low, lower than it had been all his life. The Hulk was slow and quiet and Bruce fought between relief and concern. He couldn't exactly DO anything about it though. For the time being he'd have to do the one thing he absolutely despised: existing.

What he was doing was stupid, dangerous, and downright selfish. He was aware of this. Despite being aware of this he did it anyway. Each cut along his chest made the pain in his chest rise closer to the surface; made the pain something physical. Something he could control.

"Shit." He hissed as the razor dug over a nipple. It wasn't accidental. But unlike his teenage years the cut healed rapidly before his eyes. There was no proof that there had been a cut at all. This part he enjoyed.

Despite being under watch despite NOT being under watch (officially), he had made small comforts in his new cage. Jarvis would alert the others, most likely anyway, if he moved the blade just inches upward towards his throat. He knew that method wouldn't work but it was part of his theory. However if he hurt himself WITHOUT it looking completely dangerous to his life (ha haha) it would go unreported. He had taken the precaution of telling Jarvis it was his way of blowing off steam and not to worry if there was blood.

He had a sneaking suspicion that Jarvis already ignored most signs of blood. He wasn't the only one to hurt himself here, accidently or otherwise.

After a while thought the razor bore him. And having to clean up biologically hazardous blood was inconvenient. He tried other methods experimentally: burning himself did okay; strangulation did nothing to the desired effect.

Electrocution. No.

He blew off steam at night. At first it was a release of the emotion and pressure from the too real dreams and nightmares. Than it became ritual, something to help him get to sleep. Then he would wake up, force a smile and go down to the lab to work with Tony Stark. Natasha was still around, but the moments when she was gone for whatever reason he could not relax. Even without her unwavering gaze he was on edge.

He did not do any experiments that were not prompted by Tony. He was tired of doing that. He loved the work; the inventiveness that at one time got him praise. Now all he could think about were "cures" to his affliction. He couldn't do that. Not while Tony was there, ever hopeful that his friend wouldn't betray his trust. That'd happen too many times to the idiotic genius and Bruce wasn't ready to disappoint yet.

But the sorrow and the pressure and everything was excruciating. The fear that HE would be used by his close acquaintances was too real. All those dreams of things he COULD have are being filled but he hates it. He can't let this go.

"I am going mad." He'd say to himself as he held his arm on the stove top, the smell of cooking flesh wafting in his nose.

"We need to talk."

"Natasha it is so great to see you." Bruce smiled at her, face full of innocence and happiness. They both knew it was fake, but he was getting better at his lying.

"You've been getting worse." Natasha said, folding her arms over her chest. Tony was out of the room (thank God for that) and Bruce had been left to his own devices. He put down the lighter he'd been fiddling with.

"Natasha did you really believe keeping me here would make things better?"

"No." She said simply. She moved around the room, Bruce avoiding any eye contact by staring at the lighter. Soon though she had placed a stool REALLY close to him and sat down. She was in his line of vision. He could feel her body heat. It made him want to hit her, scream at her, tell her to leave him alone or better yet kill him already. These thoughts made him sick and he hated himself for it but he couldn't release yet. He fiddled with the lighter, as if it was a promise to make things better soon. "Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" Bruce snapped his head up and stared at her. Her expression was nothing.

"Uh… What?" Natasha made a small smile. Trained.

"Me watching you, does it make you uneasy?" Bruce blinked and looked down at the lighter.

"Yes." He answered carefully.

"Good." She placed a hand on his shoulder and he could feel the trembling in it, whether it was false or not it was there. "I'm going to tell Stark." He whipped his head up so fast he lost balance and slid on his stool. He caught himself on the table, breathing heavily.

"I'm trying Romanov-"

"No you're not." She said firm and just a tinge bit angry. "Do you really think I can't see it?" Bruce laughed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You need help."

"Oh that is Rich coming from you!" Bruce regretted it the second it was out of his mouth. He bit his tongue and cursed at himself. He'd punish himself with electrocution tonight. Natasha didn't even bat an eyelash.

"I know medications probably won't work and you haven't responded well to therapy in the past but I am running out of options here." She paused, expression softening. "Do you know why I care?" Bruce shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. He kept it there, waiting. When she didn't answer he sighed.

"No I don't. I have no fucking idea."

"I'm afraid." Bruce looked at her again and the look on her face made his stomach knot.

Her face reflected Tony's so long ago in that crappy motel in Greenland. A face full of concern, sadness, vulnerability; her expression was fragile.

"I am afraid, Bruce." The way she said it, soft and wavering, her hand trembling again on his shoulder. Bruce didn't know what to say. What to do. His gut clenched painfully and the empty space in his chest seemed to grow cold. They sat quietly together. The buzz of machines was the only thing that disrupted their silence. That and the sudden stomping of feet and curse words being mumbled as the Idiotic genius came back. He was rubbing a towel over his damp hair and the smell of cologne was strong. When he turned to Bruce, mouth open and wry smile on his lips he noticed that there was a female presence. He closed his mouth looked them up and down scrupulously and raised an eyebrow.

"Err, I could come back if I was interrupting some play time." Bruce blushed and Natasha's hand left his shoulder as she stood.

"We need to talk." Bruce ducked his head as he heard Natasha walk away.

"Ow! Easy I need that." Was all he heard before the door was shut loudly and he was alone with the buzzing machines. He'd have to await his fate.

It wouldn't be over a week till Tony confronted him. The man had come back into the room, mumbled some excuse and took off. Apparently, as Bruce later learned from the news, to Seattle where he got plastered and hit some kid over the head with a bottle of Captain Morgan. Thankfully there'd been no charges but still he could practically feel the fumes of anger seeming out of Pepper in the lab. She was floors away. They hadn't spoken to each other since he came back. Still. Fuming. Yeah. Sizzling sounds in the distance.

When Tony confronted him he wore a tired face with a soiled wife beater and the smell of rum on his breath. Bruce had war flashback to a man who he had killed years ago at his mother's grave.

_Staring down at the lifeless body of the monster his anger dissipated and he screamed in agony and sorrow. He became a monster. No; he already was one. He just proved the dead man right._

"Bruce~~" Tony had slurred happily. "Guess what a little spider told me?" That was as far as he got before Bruce bolted out of the lab, out of the tower, out of the GOD DAMN CITY and fell to the ground in a boneless heap. It wasn't until crying his eyes out for a good thirty minutes that Bruce realized he'd overreacted. Just a little bit. When he looked around to take in his environment, he found that he was by a road in a ditch. A dirty ditch. He sat up and tried to wipe the mud off his shirt to no avail.

"You need help yes?" He snapped his head up and gaped in horror.

"Oh no, no no no no-"

"Oh yes yes yes yes!" The woman smiled (Nadine? Nadar? Fuck) and laughed as Bruce scrambled to his feet.

"You are not here. You are somewhere locked up where you-"

"Where I what?" She pouted. "You act as if I am an enemy."

"I see you as one."

"Why?" She raised an eyebrow and her smile fell. "I fed you, I clothed you, I gave you everything you needed and wanted. Why so harsh now?"

"No no don't act innocent. You put me in a cage."

"We were worried the Hulks might awaken yes. We couldn't have a rampaging monster near those confiscated weapons-"

"That you stole."

"Is that what she told you?" Bruce blinked and the expression on the woman's face chilled him to the bone. "You can come back you know. Yes you are always welcome." She smiled and held out a hand. Something unfamiliar tugged inside of Bruce and he reached towards her shakily. But when he met her hand there was nothing but air. She flickered away. An illusion. A mirage.

"I am going mad." Bruce laughed and fell to the ground. "I am mad." He laughed and laughed and laughed. He only stopped when slept overcame him and even then he coughed in his sleep, tears running down his face.

The drizzle of a misty rain eventually stirred him enough to open his eyes and groan. He was cold and wet and didn't remember where he was. He'd have assumed a hulk out, but he wasn't sore enough and he still had clothes, damp and clinging to him. It must have been raining for a while now. He sat up slowly, hands meeting mud and looking around. Ah yes a ditch. How he got there- well only God knew.

What he did know though was he didn't have any food, water, supplies- pretty much a normal day on the run. Is he on the run? He feels around his body and can feel the cash he'd sewn into his pants- a force of habit that's saved him more than once. He'd take it out later. He also found a stick of gum, his (wet and broken) cellphone, and some dryer lint.

Cars drove by him and after a moment or two more he reluctantly got up. He wouldn't be able to hitch a ride considering all the mud. He looked at the sky but the sun was covered up by clouds. There goes navigation. He was left the options of going to his left, his right, or staying in the mud like the filth he is. He chose left, despite how tempted he was to stay. He had walked for a good hour without meeting a town yet and the rain had picked intensified. He was now soaked and really just dragging his feet around. He didn't know which way to go and really wasn't all that interested in finding out. His stomach grumbled but he ignored it, and whenever he was thirsty he simply paused and opened his mouth to the sky for some refreshing liquid. It was almost…nice in a way. It was familiar and freeing and simplistic just for a little while. He had the comfort of knowing he wouldn't get sick, that he had money to get what he needs when he's gotten somewhere and his spirits lifted in the rain.

Weird.

He paused then and stared ahead of him. He felt happy. There was no logical reasoning for it. But there it was. Happiness. He smiled a real smile. Then he remembered. He remembered Tony's breath, the sting from running so long, the fear, the fucking hallucination. It all came crashing down on him but in an instant it was gone. Well not GONE gone but it didn't bother him. His mind was clear. He didn't have to go anywhere right now. No one was watching him yet. He was free.

He felt good and his smile stayed despite the mud getting in his teeth. It came down to just a simple close mouthed smile but still there was glee. He went back to walking though just to have something to do and the uncomfortable state he was in physically didn't deter from his mood. He could only think of how strange it was to feel like this for the first time in months, years even. There was no logic. With all the variables he should be miserable. But he wasn't.

Weird.


End file.
